


Trials Of The Temporarily One-Handed

by loves_books



Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 10:14:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1301224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An injured and frustrated Face finds he can't use his right hand. Hannibal tries to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trials Of The Temporarily One-Handed

Face lasts exactly two hours before he gives in and uses the damn sling. He keeps forgetting he’s injured, reaching out automatically with his right hand, and that just hurts far too much. So he uses the sling, reluctantly, complaining loudly the whole time.

Hannibal, wisely, makes no comment as he adjusts it carefully around Face’s neck, making sure it sits comfortably on his shoulder.

Face figures he can try to do something useful at least, so he tries to catch up on his reports and the mountain of paperwork in Hannibal’s office. How hard can it be to type one-handed, he wonders, starting to poke at the computer.

Hannibal stops him just before he throws the keyboard through the office window, shooing him gently outside and away from anything else he might break.

Instead, Face heads for the range. He can shoot nearly as well with his left hand as his right, after all, so this is a perfect opportunity to log some time and just zone out. Lose himself in the focus of hitting target after target, focus on something other than the ache in his right hand and wrist.

Turns out he can shoot just fine with his left hand, which he already knew of course, but he can’t reload his weapon. Hannibal really doesn’t want to stand there with him all day just keeping Face supplied with ammo, so yet another idea is abandoned before it gets off the ground.

Frustrated and feeling worse than useless, Face finally gives up and heads for home, telling a relieved Hannibal he’ll see him later. The medics already told him to take it easy, but he hates sitting still. He didn’t want to listen to them, not at first anyway.

He knows when to give in, though. Despite rumours to the contrary, Face knows when to follow medical advice and when to just ignore it. His wrist is bruised and twisted rather than sprained or broken, but he knows it could all get a whole lot worse if he doesn’t rest it. Two weeks in a sturdy brace, medical stand-down, and the damn sling.

God, he’s bored. It’s only been five hours. Two weeks might just kill him.

Thankfully, everyone seems to know it would be a bad idea to tease him about what happened. Face doesn’t think he would actually punch anyone for making a smart comment or taking the piss, but he doesn’t mind everyone believing he would. It was stupid and embarrassing, but it could’ve happened to any of them. Not his fault he was way out in front on the morning run round the obstacle course, though Murdock was close on his heels. 

No way to know how slippery that puddle of mud was. Nor how deep it had been. If he hadn’t have screamed in pain – a manly scream, of course, not at all girly – Face knew the whole regiment would have laughed long and loud at how muddy he’d been. 

Now, he’s bored. He manages to sit still for all of an hour, watching mindless afternoon television. Chat shows and reality TV. Face can practically feel his brain cells turning to mush, even as his wrist continues to throb with a dull ache. He can’t read a book, since he can’t turn the pages easily, and while he could probably cope with putting on a load of washing or tidying the house, he just doesn’t want to. 

He spots one of Murdock’s cookery books, and has an idea. Might pass the time. How hard could it be?

Hannibal arrives home that evening to a scene of near-disaster. The kitchen looks like someone set a bomb off in the pantry, eggs all over the floor, milk dripping off the cabinets, and Face stood in the middle of it all, covered head to toe in flour. Baking, it turns out, really does take two hands.

But again, Hannibal manages not to comment, though Face can see a clear smile hovering at the corners of his lover’s mouth as Hannibal takes him by his good hand and tugs him gently from the kitchen, closing the door behind them. Murdock makes more of a mess every day, after all.

Face lets his lover tug him all the way to the bedroom. He lets Hannibal strip him carefully of his flour-dusted clothes, and lets himself be pushed down gently onto the bed, now wearing only his brace and the sling.

Turns out, Hannibal knows exactly what to do to keep Face from being bored. Face finds he doesn’t need two hands to guide his lover’s head as Hannibal settles between his parted thighs and swallows him down, quickly bringing him to a breath-taking climax.

Nor does he need two hands when Hannibal slides a pillow beneath his hips and grabs the slick from the bedside table. One hand is more than enough to wrap around the back of his lover’s head and haul him close for a deep kiss even as one deliciously long finger breaches him, making him gasp.

In fact, he finds he doesn’t need either hand really, all pain and embarrassment and boredom forgotten as Hannibal slides home, careful not to jolt his body even as the sling keeps his injured hand safe and snug against his chest. It’s slow and passionate, everything he didn’t realise he needed, and together they work their way to orgasm, a second for Face and a first for Hannibal.

Lying together in the blissful aftermath, feeling no pain, Face catches his breath and manages to thank Hannibal for finding something to keep him occupied while his right hand is out of action.

“You do realise this is apparently the only thing I can do for the next two weeks without hurting myself further?” he asks with a smile, and he sees the moment realisation dawns on Hannibal’s face.

His lover says nothing at first, reaching over with one hand to carefully check the sling is secure, the arm immobilised. “I’m sure I can find some way to cope,” Hannibal murmurs, blue-grey eyes dancing as he leans closer and kisses Face softly on the lips. “In fact, I think I’m due some leave myself.”

There are certainly worse ways to spend a fortnight, Face thinks with a smile, his last thought for some time, as Hannibal moves lower again and the pain in his wrist is forgotten completely.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for panda77777


End file.
